Troy Falling
by Mischief1689
Summary: Chryse was born a smith’s daughter with the potential to be much more.Urged by her guides to disguise herself as a boy and go to Troy to fight for the Greeks,she’s taken under Achilles’ wing in a bizarre twist of Fate.From battle to tent-life,how long wil
1. Default Chapter

Ok, first I want to apoligize for the fact that although this story has a beginning, a middle, and end and a plot…it really doesn't flow scene-to-scene. So if you can't handle some brief blips between scenes…this story isn't for you. The urge to write this left before I could fill it out, but I DID write an end…it was the first time I ever had managed to write one. Wow. ::starry-eyed::

The base of this is set more from the Iliad then the movie Troy, because I never saw they movie. However, I did read the Iliad. Furthermore, I heard the entire story got mangled in the making of the movie…that's Hollywood for you. ::sighs:: Homer must be spinning in his grave. So if the characters don't seem like those in the movie, (i.e- Breseis,) it's because…SURPRISE, THEY AREN'T!

So with that in mind, I shall now wheel the curtains off this fic ::pullpull, screechscreech:: (A bit rusty,) and let you read it. I've wasted enough of your time, and you're probably ready to jump at me and demand you're just fill of the action. Without further ado, I present to you....

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The night Chryse became Chrysaor, it rained so hard it was as if the gods were crying. They probably were. I was trying not to as my hand drew the sharp knife blade across my waving hair. Spans of it dropped to the ground, covering the bare clay floor, creating a gold rug. My father stood in the doorway, his back to me as I went about my horrible task.

"You can't go by Chryse anymore. That's a maid's name." He winced as he heard me tug the blade through my hair, and it snapped off, leaving me with hair that grazed my shoulders. The waterfall of sunshine that had once fallen to my waist lay around me, and my father cried privately as his daughter discarded her only dowry. Actually, make that his son.

"Chrysaor," I whispered, gathering up the strands in my arms and offering them to my father to dispose of. His muscled smith arms closed around them, and his fingers stroked his load for the last time. "The horse that sprang from Medusa's spilled blood when Perseus cut off her head."

My father looked up, alarmed. "It's a story mother had told me," I finished, running my fingers over my scalp and down my hair, surprised how short it ended now. My father looked at me and started out the door. I stared at my fingers where they curled at my side. "I know," I whispered half to him and half to myself. "Don't talk about her."

My father returned a few minutes later, and by that time I exchanged my long dress-tunic for a short tunic and loose pants that stopped at the knee and had bound my chest. "It's a good thing you're built like your-…Synae." He took me in from head to toe. "And that you've been helping your poor, feeble father work the forge. You've got muscles on you like an ox." I smiled, and my father, Hectos, master smith of Athens, continued with a gentle smile. "Well, maybe just a ox calf," he amended. All play aside, he continued, serious. "I won't be doing this, Chryse, if I didn't think you could handle it. And thrive. You'll be much better off there then you'll be here. Take care," he said, eyes bright with tears. My father pressed something into my hand, and I looked down.

It was one of his own creations, a bright dagger with its own sheath. "Can't have you going off to war without your own weapons," he told me. "Take care of it, because if you don't, I can't guarantee you'll get another to replace it," he warned. "At least I'm sending you off with all the knowledge I have. You can hold your own, and you're a clever maid. Boy. Remember, pray to your gods, and follow every order that's given to you, unless you have reason otherwise. And then, have a good reason."

He hugged me fiercely. "I'll see you when you come home," he promised, and handed me my small pack. "There's food, spare clothes, a kit, and some money. Be careful, Chryse. Watch who you talk back to, and be good to your master. He could save your life." I nodded, swinging the pack onto my shoulders and climbing into the window. Sitting on the ledge, I looked back one last time at my father. "When Orpheus passed the Siren's lair, he played his harp so that the ship wouldn't be dashed on the rocks. In distracting his crew, he saved their lives. A Siren's song called our nation to war, and now someone has to find an Orpheus. I'll be standing alongside those who could be Orpheus." With those last words, I dropped from the window, onto the street below. Chryse cried inside her, for the loss of her life, but Chrysaor had a mission that kept his feet walking unwaveringly toward the wharves.

I was a maiden of just sixteen when I left home and country to be a boy and fight a war started because of a woman. Or three, depending on who you listened to. The gods, or more correctly, the goddesses, said they caused it, but in my heart I thought it was Helen. Men were stupid creatures, risking all for a woman, fair or not. And maybe I was stupider yet for following them when my woman sense told me not to. But someone had to listen to the gods, and mine were telling me to go.

It's odd to have to listen to not one, but two patron goddesses. And especially two so drastically different. As I began my trek to the waterfront, two people materialized on either side of me. A dark-haired woman with wild eyes tugged at my newly short hair, and another woman with gray eyes who wore a crested helmet slapped at her hand. The huntress pouted, and the warrior-woman frowned at her sister. "That's all good and well, Artemis, if you're planning on having her appear loose before she even gets with the soldiers," Athena chided in her rich voice.

Artemis sighed and squeezed my shoulders. "But she makes such a clever figure, doesn't she?" the wispy-voiced goddess asked, trapping my chin between her fingers and tilting her head to the side. "She's too boyish-looking to make Aphrodite mad, and too feminine to be a man. She'll be a stunning standard boy."

"I'd like to survive at least to the ships, please," I said quietly, putting my thoughts in. "And showing up with two women with me won't exactly endear me to my fellow soldiers." Artemis laughed gaily. "Ooo, Athena! This is going to be exciting!" she squealed. Athena glared as her sister disappeared, and the serious warrior looked down at me.

"If you need help, you know how to call us. Keep away from the rowdy ones, and keep your stories to yourself. No flirting, and tie your hair back. You look like a kitchen boy." She was gone too before I could respond.

"That's the look I'm hoping for," I said quietly, but did what she had told me. It's never good to ignore what a god tells you.

The burly captain looked at me, taking me in from the top of my head to the soles of my sandals. He grunted at me, and I took it to be the male equivalent of "You'll do." Tapping the papyrus scroll with his reed pen impatiently, he ran through the basics in a bored tone that I knew was from saying the same thing over and over again.

"Name?"

"Chrys-aor, son of Hectos the smith, of Athens."

"Age?"

"Ten-and-six."

"Any skill? Trade?"

"I worked with my father in the forges."

He eyed my arm muscles and nodded. "Been taught to fight?"

"Yes."

"Sword-"

"Yes."

"Dagger-"

"Yes."

"Bow-"

"Yes."

"Spear?"

"No."

His eyebrows shot up alarmingly high into his bushy hair. "No spear?" I shook my head.

"No, sir. We only forged the spearheads. We didn't attach them to the spear staff."

"Hmm…" The captain peered closer at me and frowned. "You're too pretty to be a soldier. What man would want you around, distracting the women from him?"

I smothered a snort of laughter. Keeping my face straight, staring right ahead, I replied. "Right, sir. I suppose they'd want to be distracted from you." I heard the other boys and men behind me snorting in laughter, trying to keep quiet.

Suddenly, a shout of laughter met my ears, and a strong hand fell on my shoulder, almost buckling my knees under me. "Oomph."

I turned around to see who was laughing. A tall man, much taller then I, stood in full bronze armor, fair hair grazing his shoulders, a bit shorter then mine. Blue eyes laughed down at me, and he smiled disarmingly. Oooooh…Oh, yes, that's right…I'm a man. No swooning over your fellow soldiers.

"Who's the sharp-tongued whelp?" the man asked, tightening his grip on my shoulder. The burly captain looked down at me with distaste. "I don't know, but he's surly not joining this army."

The warrior gave another laugh. "C'mon, someone this clever? You can't win a war on muscle alone. Look at Odysseus. You, boy, what's your name?"

"Chrysaor, your lordship."

He looked down, catching my chin in-between his thumb and fore-finger. "Mmm. Right. He's right about one thing. You would distract the ladies. How old are you, boy?"

"Ten-and-six."

"Perfect. Too young to really distract. Come with me."

"With you, lord?"

"I need a standard boy. It'll be amusing, having the prettiest standard boy for once. Make everyone jealous."

He took off toward the boats, and I looked between him and the captain, who was shooting me murderous glares. I'd probably live longer with the warrior, I decided, and took off after him. "A standard boy, sir? What does a standard boy do?"

The warrior stopped and looked back at me. "Whatever I tell you to do. Usually clean the weapons and armor, look after the horses, help me with my armor; that sort of thing." I had yet to get the hang of walking alongside him, and for now I was doing an odd sort of half-running half-walking thing to keep stride with him. Kind of like how a puppy follows its' mother. For every one of his strides, I took two. At that point, I thought I'd kill myself just walking with him. I hadn't got that hang of walking alongside him yet. That would come later, among with other things, once I lost my innocence and naïvety on the battlefield.

"Your name?" I asked, almost out of breath. He stopped and looked back at me.

"Achilles."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish. "No," was what I came out with.

"Yes," he insisted.

"No."

"You know," he said, tilting his head at me, "It's endearing when you talk back to superiors, but not when it's about simple things that are facts."

"No."

Achilles sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Here we go again."


	2. Misconceptions

Breseis smiled like a cat and reached a hand over toward me. Gesturing, she commanded: "Come here, boy." I obeyed warily, not liking the sashed woman's tone or vibes. She patted the cushions next to her, and I lowered myself down slowly.

"Now, that's better," she purred, stroking my head. "What's your name, pet?"

"Chrysaor," I said, wiggling away from her hand. Grabbing my tunic's collar in a no-nonsense way, she hauled me back beside herself. "Don't leave, pet. We're only getting to know each other," she cooed.

My nerves were jangling uncomfortably, and I wanted to leap up and run away from the woman. '_I'm a girl, I'm a girl, I'm a girl,_' kept running through my head, and I hoped Breseis was good at mind-reading.

Instead of heeding my desperate mind-pleas, she trapped my face between her hands. "Oooh, you _are_ a pretty one," she said excitedly. "What a pretty young boy you are!"

The only thing that came out of my mouth was a frantic "Ehhh…" Where in Hades was Achilles when you needed him?

A second later, my prayers were answered. Sort of. Achilles, obviously better at picking up thoughts then Breseis, walked through the tent doors. However, Breseis didn't have the reaction of leaping back from me at the sight of him that I had hoped for. Instead, she turned my head to face Achilles. "Isn't he gorgeous?" she shrilled in joy. "Where _did_ you find him? Can I play with him, please? Please?" she begged, and Achilles looked over.

Taking in my face as my eyes shouted at him to help, he raised an eyebrow. "Breseis, let him go. The poor boy's crying out for help." She frowned, but released my face. Sighing, I rubbed feeling back into my cheeks. "But I _like_ him!" she protested, standing up and tiptoeing over to Achilles. "Please? Just to train him. Can I have him? Please? For a week?" She hung on his arm, and he shook her off. "Look at him," he urged. "He's practically cracking. Breseis, he's only a baby. And besides, I need a standard boy. He's doing well. I don't want to have to get another after you break him."

"I wouldn't _break_ him, " she pouted, but Achilles shook his head, putting his foot down. "No, Breseis. Go find another boy to torment." She huffed and stalked out of the large tent, and Achilles shuffled some maps and scrolls. Looking over to where I was still frozen on the pillows, he shot me a look. "Still a virgin, then?"

"Eeep."

Shaking his head, he smiled softly down at the maps on the tabletop.

I turned in front of the bronze mirror, examining the leather armor-plated skirt that Ajax had fitted for me. My anklet clanged against my sandal top, and the giant winced behind me.

The leather fell to my knees, a little long, but the best they could do on such short notice. And it was just fine for me, seeing as it wasn't my money that was paying for it. Achilles gestured, shaking a hand from side to side. "It'll do for now. He might grow into it, anyway."

Ajax snorted. "He's a stripling, Achilles. It's not like he's going to grow to be the oak tree I am. I'd even be surprised if he grows again at all."

Achilles narrowed his eyes at my reflection. "Eh. There's truth in your words, Ajax. Fine. It'll do. Boy, how do you like it?"

Turning, I smiled at my master. "Very much, thank you, milord. It fits fine to me." And it did. I'd rather cover as much of my thin legs as I could in battle. Nymph-bred I might be, but that didn't mean that I was quick enough to dodge anything. And furthermore, when surrounded by men, my smooth and thinner-muscled legs got me in trouble. You could pick me out of the lines of our army merely by looking below the leather and tunics and shields, looking for very un-manly legs. Between them, and my need not to shave, I was somewhere between the envy and the scapegoat of the Greek army.

Morpheus smiled over at me, looking up from polishing his master's sword. "Chrysaor, I swear by the gods, you grow more beautiful every day. Soon you'll have men fighting over your honor, and poor Helen will be forgotten."

I elbowed him sharply in the stomach. He gasped his breath out, and I leaned over. "Shut your foolish mouth, Morpheus. Or else the only thing you'll be fighting for is your life," I warned.

The other boys gathered around looked at each other and smirked. "It's true, Chrysaor," Eteocles said, shaking his head. "You're too small to be a soldier,"

"So slender you could be picked up by the wind," put in Iphis with the dark complexion.

"-So the only thing you'd be good for is to be the pretty standard boy. Or a male concubine," Eteocles amended, pointing at me.

I stood up, gritting my teeth. "It's not a wonder Achilles picked you," Iphis said, smiling at me the grin of a shark. Just as pointy, just as friendly. "You know how much he loves his women. Just be warned when you're sent to live with the harem."

My fists clenched at my side, and Morpheus set a hand on my shoulder, cautioning me. "Careful, Chrysaor. I was only joking, but if you strike them, they'll strike you back," he warned quietly. "They're both bigger, and I don't want to have to carry you back to Achilles."

I made a rude gesture to the two other standard boys, and turned. Morpheus trotted after me. Opening my stride, I used the method of distancing through stride that Achilles used so often that I had had to adjust to. Jogging alongside me, Morpheus puffed.

"Chrysaor, you know I was only playing with you," he pleaded. "Don't be so mad." I shot him a look, and he looked down.

"It's bad enough, Morpheus, when you have half the camp wanting to throw you out for Paris and the other half mooning over your face," I spat at him. "The last thing I need is my only friend to be calling me a girl."

"Well, you are pretty enough to be-"

"Shut your mouth! Just shut your mouth, Morpheus!" I yelled, turning to look at him. He cowered, and I turned on my heel again. "I'm not a gi-" I started, and then ran into someone.

"Uhh…" I muttered, rubbing my head where my forehead had banged into someone's breastplate.

"You're not a girl?" someone prompted, and I didn't need to look up. "No, Achilles, I'm not a girl. No, Morpheus, I'm not a girl. NO, THE ENTIRE CAMP, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'M _NOT A GIRL! _" I yelled at the top of my lungs, and a hand clamped over my mouth. Achilles swept his hand behind me and pushed me forward, toward the tents. "Wonderful. Now that you've alerted our army to that fact, care to go stand in front of the walls of Troy and tell them?" he asked mildly, ushering me into the main tent. "Since you've had that outburst, I suggest you can polish all my armor. And weapons. And when you're done with that, the horses need to be groomed, and the harnesses can be checked and re-stitched if needed," he told me, starting to unbuckle his armor.

I sighed, raising my eyes to the heavens. "Do you hear this?" I asked Athena and Artemis indignantly. "You expect me to deal with this? I'm only mortal!" I insisted.

Achilles looked over. "I'm sure they know. Now, do I employ you, or do I not? And what do I employ you for?" he asked. Sighing again, I moved over to help unbuckle the rest of the armor and raise it off him.

I stood on the edge of the beach, where sea met land. Crouching on my feet, I called out toward the depths. "Mother? Are you there? I need you."

I waited for a few minutes, watching intently as the bottom of the sea finally began to stir. Silver hair billowed out, and a body cut the sea before me. I sighed in relief and began to talk before the woman was even fully out of the water and standing before me. "Mother, I know that Athena and Artemis told me to come, but I'm seriously starting to wonder about the-" I cut off. "Wait, you're not my mother!" I said, affronted.

The nymph who was not my mother looked at me. "You aren't Achilles." She turned and looked down the beach front. I followed her gaze and saw my master kneeling at the water's edge like I was. In front of him stood another nymph, the same silver hair as this one, but subtle differences marked her as my mother.

My mother and Achilles turned, and a smile spread over his face. "Oh, hello, Synae. How are you, darling?" the nymph beside me asked. Achilles and I both raised a hand to our forehead. My mother started forward toward me. "It was pleasant to meet you, Achilles," she said graciously, and he nodded, beckoning his own mother over. She nodded. "I'm so sorry, boy. You two must have called at the same time. A little mistake, really." I nodded assent, and she stopped my mother as she passed.

"Your son, Synae? I thought you had a daughter…how is she?"

My mother and I both froze, and Achilles looked at my mother in interest. "She, uh, she died," my mother said. "Tragic accident." I sighed in relief, both grateful we had gotten out of that spot, and a little offended the only thing my mother could think up was that her only child, me, had died. Oh well.

"I'm so sorry, Synae!" Thetis gasped. "I didn't hear!"

"Yes, well, news travels…slow."

Thetis finally said her good-byes, and my lovely mother came over to me, sighing deeply as she sunk to the sand. "Well, I'm glad that's over. So, why did you call me? It isn't about Achilles, is it?"

I shook my head, and she looked slightly disappointed. "That's a shame. He's a lovely man, no?"

"Mother! He's my…my _master! _"

"It's a disappointment that this was all Artemis and Athena could think up to get you here. I bet that your life would be more interesting if you had been sent to him as a concubine."

"_Mother!_ Please, this is why I never call you anymore. You never want to hear why I called."

"Oh, fine. So, why did you call?"

"I need help."


	3. First Battle, Times of Change

I heard the drums and was on my feet even before Achilles burst through the tent's flap. "My armor!" he demanded, but I was already holding it up for him, ready for him to slip it on. As I buckled on his greaves onto his shins, tapping his knees as he shifted impatiently, making my job harder, (and he knew it,) he looked down at me.

"Come on, aren't you done yet? We don't have the time. You're coming too."

My fingers stopped on the buckles. "What?" I asked, staring up at him. He moved his leg, and I subconsciously slapped at his leg, stopping him. "I'm going…out there…with you?"

"Yes. Don't look so surprised. You're _my_ standard boy. Agamemnon would be an idiot to exclude you from the ranks. Now, hand me my weapons, and go get dressed for battle while I hitch the horses to the chariot."

He tried to walk away, stumbled, and glared down at me as I still clung to his leg, hugging it. He rolled his eyes to the heavens, and I hastily scrambled up. "Right sir."

"Boy, what am I going to do with you?"

He left, and I pawed through my piles of things, searching for the leather skirt, a thicker tunic, and an old helmet. Exchanging my sweat-stained linen tunic for the silk one lined with layers of linen, and topping it with the skirt, I jammed the helmet over my fair hair, adjusting it so it didn't rub against my pert nose. Trotting past my bed, I grabbed my father's dagger off it, and fetched one of the shields that hung near the tent flap.

I blinked in the sunlight, squinting at the shine of sun off moving bronze armor. I heard a whistle, and Achilles gestured where he stood near the chariot. Something flew through the air toward me as I walked toward him, and I grasped the sword in its sheath. Drawing it, I examined it closely, and nodded. A good smith had craft this, though it wasn't my father's mark that stamped it. "I hope you're as good with a sword as you said you were," Achilles warned me. "I don't feel like training another standard boy after all this."

Climbing up into the chariot after him, I gripped the side as the two gray horses leapt forward. Achilles held the reins, and gripped his spear beside him. "Ready?" he asked, cavalier. I nodded, smiling fiercely. This was what I had been waiting for.

We lined up on the side of the battlefield, at the end of a line of chariots that was rapidly expanding. I could pick out Odysseus and his black team, and Agamemnon and his fiery chestnuts that matched both his hair and temper. Further down was Nestor and his steel-grays, Giant Ajax and his bay team, Little Ajax and his matched whites, and more of our comrades. Foot soldiers from all of the provinces of Greece lined behind us, following the orders of their lords.

The Trojans were in formation on the other side of the great field from us, ready as we were for the bloodshed. The sun bore down harshly on both armies, sparing no one. The sun didn't pick sides like the gods.

On our side the figures of Hera, Athena, Artemis and a few of the lesser gods could be seen, and filed in with the Trojans stood Ares, mighty Archer, god of war, Dawn, mother of Memnon, and more. This had gone even beyond a war of mortals.

I chanced a look at my master, and a fierce grin settled over his mouth as he waited for the call. Shifting from foot to foot, as was his nervous habit, we both waited for Menelaus's call to battle.

Then, from the first ranks of our chariots came the sound of a golden horn. From the far Trojan side, another answered. This was it. A momentary chilling silence came over both sides, and you could hear leather shifting as men settled into their armor and horses muscles gathered and bunched. Then, as one, both sides spilled onto the field like crashing black waves.

The clash of metal on armor was deafening. Flashes of light caught on everything, spear, sword, armor, burnished chariot. Blood ran red under wheel and foot, and men were falling left and right, taken by spear or sword cut. Friend and foe fell, cut down by bronze and iron as the red wave overtook them.

Achilles thrust the reins at me, and I grabbed them before they dropped. "But I don't know how to drive a chariot!" I protested as he reached for his spears.

"Well, you better learn fast or we're both dead," came my master's answer, sent with a smile but in a blunt tone that didn't leave room for negotiation. I fisted the reins in my hands, and the horses swerved left, then right, then straight as I struggled to get a short grip on them.

Men fell under their hooves, and the chariot's wheels rolled over mounds. Achilles grinned at me. "Well, that's one way to do it. Running them over is just as good as bringing them down with bronze." I shook my head without looking at him, concentrating fiercely ahead of me. I could see where Hector of Troy, son of King Priam was fighting.

We hit a rut, and the chariot tipped sideways. The horses surged forward, and I lost my grip on both reins and chariot side. Tumbling from the bronze vehicle, I saw Achilles grab for the flapping reins and throw his weight all to one side to right the carriage. Not stopping, the horses raced on. I was on my own for the first time.

Stumbling up, I drew the sword from its sheath, and looked up over the field. Chaos reigned as men, horses, chariots, weapons and armor fell. From the colors of armor, and tunics, the colors of their households, you could tell whose side who was on.

I had lost sight of Achilles and his chariot, so I started forward, sword held ready at my side. So busy fighting with each other, no one noticed a thin slip in armor weaving through the battlefield. Running through the melee, I ducked as weapons flashed overhead me. I was swiftly running, as the daughter of a silver-footed sea nymph should, the feet of my mother's blood bringing me through the battle with minimal scrapes. Achilles was the swift sprinter, and that came from his own sea nymph mother's blood. The silver coursed through our veins, and no one without help of the gods could keep up with us.

A spear whizzed past my head, and I stopped sharply, turning. A Trojan foot soldier stood behind me, leveling another spear at me. My eyes widened as he let go, and I dropped to the ground, rolling as instinct took over. Crouching, I looked up at him as he started forward, drawing his sword. That wouldn't do. He was far taller and heavier then I, and a battle between us would end poorly for me.

Before he had a chance to recover his sword from his side, I had leapt up and was running at him, my own sword out. Jumping, I landed on his chest as I stabbed down, and the man fell, his dark blood pooling over my hands in river as it coursed out of his body, over the sword's hilt. I stared at it, transfixed. My first kill, the first man I had brought down in battle. I retched, and threw up.

Standing as I swiped at my mouth, I ran my sword over his tunic quickly, cleaning it partially, as best I could for now. I wasn't a treasure-hunter like most of these men; I didn't care to strip the armor of my fallen opponents. It seemed too low, too much like desecrating the bodies of the dead. I left him there, where he had fallen, in a pool of his own blood.

The ground had turned from brown and green to red below my feet, staining my sandals and feet as I ran. I lashed out with my sword at those in the "wrong" armor as they ran past me, screaming in fury. The innocence of the child was gone, raped from me by these men of blood and glory.

I found Achilles fighting near Troy's walls. Leave it to him to get the farthest. A bloody swath of bodies lay in a path behind him, marking where the invincible killer had come through. I stood, running back my free hair from my face, the helmet gone now, watching him hack away at the shield of a Trojan, fighting him until the other man fell.

Leaning on my sword's hilt, point driven into the ground, I cheered with the rest of the Greek soldiers, but felt a deep sense of disgust with myself as I did. Here I was, only seventeen, and I was congratulating a man for ending the life of another. Did he have a wife back inside the city's walls? Children? Were they waiting, praying, hoping they would see their father and husband again?

Even worse, I thought back on all the men I had killed in my flight across the battlefield. No river of red like Achilles', but a smaller, neater killing job marked my passage. Those men I had killed, with these hands, with my dearly loved father's steel, they had lives too. But war was war. It was their life, or mine. And personally, I would rather keep mine. I had become a killer, ruthless and efficient. In one day. In one day, the giggling girl that had rode onto the battlefield had turned into the grim-eyed and blood-stained warrior woman who hated herself. Was this what it felt like to be a soldier? A warrior? A legend?

I turned away from the scene in disgust. Men were fleeing into Troy's walls, and men were fleeing back to the Greek's camps by their black-hulled ships. This day's battle was over.

Achilles stripped his opponent's armor. I didn't watch it, but instead heard it, the sick dull sound of a dead body slumping out of his armor, the _thunk_ as he hit the ground, naked. The clang as Achilles waved the fallen soldier's gear in the air above his head at his people. I shook my head, walking away, my naked sword still clutched in my bloody and sweaty hand.

A shout made me turn. Achilles was looking after me, grinning. "Boy! You, Chrysaor! You leave so soon? Will you not stop to celebrate with your allies and master, who fought so gloriously today?"

I stared at him, at the blood that caked him as it did everyone else, even myself. I had never had someone else's blood on me before, but I knew it was nothing new for my master. No, he would come back to the tents, where I would have drawn up a basin of hot water, and wash it off him as he stood and told me the tales of the battle, the war he fought. As I had for the past year. And what a fool I was, this past year, to listen in awe and total worship, and think how strong he was, how brave.

There was no braveness about him, this immortal man who fought these mortal soldiers. I knew that now. I knew what it felt like to have someone die under you hand, to have their blood spill onto you, in your face, and into your mouth, open and gasping for breath in the heat. I knew the tangy and metal-sweet taste a man's hot blood had, and I knew the ache in my very bones that came from lifting a sword over, and over, and over again, to raise it over someone's head or neck. To stab through thin armor, and feel sorry for a man that was too poor to have had thick armor made for him.

I shook my head at Achilles, favorite of the gods, my eyes hollow. His face creased in concern. He walked over to me and tilted my head up so he could look at my face, smeared with sweat and blood and gods know what else. My hair was clumped with the same stuff, my helmet long discarded when it became a heat-trap on my head, and making my neck heavy. I met his eyes for a second, let him see all the hate and disappointment I held there, and then turned my head away. "I'll go back to the tents now, milord, and heat your water."

He let me go, and I turned and walked away again, the mutters of the men gathered behind me filling my ears in a consistent and annoying buzz. Let them talk. Let them gossip like lazy and noble women at the bathhouses. I would not be swayed. I would go back, alone, and mourn the death of a maid none of them had ever known, or would know. A maid none of them had ever seen, but looked right at everyday.

The horses were still with Achilles, so I didn't have to tend to them. I drew two basins of warm water, one for Achilles, and one for me. Hidden in the back of one of the smaller tents, I washed the gore off of myself and my clothing, watching the water turn a weak and sickly red as I dunked the cloth back into it again. I took my quiet alone time to breathe deep and set back everything I had seen and done this day, and push it into the farthest corner of my mind. A killer I might be, but one who gloried in it, I was not.

Re-dressed in my tunic I had worn before the battle that morning, I hauled the bigger basin into the great tent for my master to wash himself in. Once everything was in place, from the water and basin to a fresh tunic and robe, I stood at the doorway and watched for him to come, lit by the flickers of various camp and cooking fires. Finally, the glint off the bronze chariot and gray horses caught my eye, and I ran forward to take the bridles from Achilles. He let them go for me to take, and walked into his tent.

Hitching the horses to their ties, I untacked them and rubbed them down, making sure they weren't too warm to eat. Once they were cared for to my satisfaction, I enlisted the help of a few of the soldiers Achilles had brought from his provinces of Myrmidon to roll the chariot and cover it safely.

Once my other tasks were done, I entered the tent to help Achilles himself. He sat slumped over on a chair, his head in his hands. Looking up, he groaned as he lifted his arms above his head so I could pull his breastplate off. He flexed his arms as I bent down and unbuckled his greaves and sandals.

He stood up, unfastening the pin of his tunic from his shoulder and dropping it. Keeping my eyes adverted, I picked up the filthy garment that fairly dripped and took the pin out of it. Fastening it, I laid it next to the clean tunic that lay out for him once he was finished washing.

Achilles was in the brass basin, leaning against the side, eyes closed. He looked at peace for the first time today, and I felt some of my hostility towards him melt away. I could forget that he was a kind master and a fair man so easily when confronted with his harsh combat. I took another cloth from a stack and dipped it in the water, slowly cleaning the layers of sweat, dirt and blood off his muscled shoulders. They flexed under my fingers as I scrubbed, and he leaned back into the cloth.

"Battle didn't agree with you?" he asked quietly, not looking back at me, with his eyes still closed, voice sleepy.

"…It's not so much that it didn't agree with me. I understand that you must kill or be killed," I started carefully. "But I still believe that the life of a person is a precious thing and should be respected."

"But when it comes down to the final matter, would you die for a cause?"

"Not this cause. What type of woman would send her country into battle because of a sordid affair?" I asked indignantly. "I surely wouldn't- be involved in this if it weren't for my country's honor."

"One like Helen."

"Yes."

There was a brief pause as Achilles submerged his head under the water, and then resurfaced. "Why were you so hateful earlier? You know about war, even before you fought today. You know the things I do. So why the distaste?"

I thought for a moment, not wanting to sound brash or petulant. "Because I had never experienced the blood-lust or triumph that comes when you defeat someone, and I had thought that killing was a sacred honor, not something that the rashest recruit can accomplish."

"Those are wise words for one so green and young."

"My father taught me that."

"Your father must be a smart man."

"He…is? Was? I don't know. I don't know if my father is alive, or dead, or even if he's moved."

"You miss him."

My hands stopped moving as I thought. "I guess I do. He raised me, because my mother wasn't around. Synae is…different."

"Your mother's a sea nymph, like mine."

His sure tone shocked me. "And how or why do you think that?" I asked quietly. He rapped my knuckles, and pointed to his back. I resumed the cleaning, listening to the words he said.

"You run fast and light, and don't get winded easily. Your hair is fine but thick, and light. But your eyes are green, the green of a pale sea at daybreak. Odd color for eyes around here."

"But your eyes are blue," I protested. "So not that different from mine. And I know you're of a nymph and mortal king."

"And you?"

I looked down at my hands, and not at my master, who had turned to watch me. "I'm born of a sea nymph and a master smith."

"There's nothing to be ashamed about that," Achilles told me, ducking his head to make sure that he caught my eye.

"I'm not ashamed," I told him, backing myself up a bit so he could see my entire face to know I wasn't lying. "I'm not ashamed at all about my blood. But I just wish…May I ask you something?" He nodded ascent.

"As a child of a nymph…Is your mother never there either?"

Achilles thought before answering. "If I need her, she's there," he said cautiously. "Sometimes she's even there before I call for her. But when it comes to being an active mother, no, I don't suppose nymphs are strong at that. You still bear a slight grudge at your mother?" he asked me.

Shamed, I could only nod. Even as a grown maid, of an age to be married and have a family of my own, (not that I wanted one, obviously,) I still bore the slight scars on my soul of a child who had grown without her mother's love. Surely, I had my mother's admiration and joy, but she had always been, was, and would always be such a different creature in her beauty and sea-life that we would never be able to see eye-to-eye. Where my mother was grace and femininity, I was my father's helper and soldier. No wonder she had farmed off the responsibilities of me to two other goddesses.

"For what it's worth," Achilles said, turning back around, his back toward me so I could wash it more easily, "I think that if you still need to resolve issues with your mother, you should do it."

I dashed from the tent, looking for something, anything to help me get to the battlefields before the battle started. My eyes rested on Achilles' chariot horses. Ride them there? I snorted. I knew the tale. They had been given to Achilles from the gods, a set of matching stallion like no others. And only Achilles alone could control them. Only an idiot would try to ride them. I'm many things, an imposter and a sneak among them, but on my good days I'm not an idiot. I turned away from the team, and started down the tent row.

"Horses?" I shouted, looking back and forth to passing soldiers. "Does anyone have a horse for me?" They shook their heads, and I kept running, looking for even the oldest of nags.

Finally, down by Odysseus' tents, a man came forward with a dark horse. "Where you the one calling for a horse? Chrysaor?" he asked, and I nodded, out of breath. "Here," he said, handing the bridle to me. "From his lordship Odysseus. Bring him back when you're through with him is all he requests." I nodded my thanks, swinging up onto the bay's high back. Settling on the lion pelt on his back, I turned the stallion and took off for the fields.


	4. Uncoverings and Meetings

The tent flap opened, and I gasped, yanking up the blanket to cover me. My hair, grown longer with neglect for time to re-cut it, tumbled around my face, and I squeaked as Achilles ducked through.

He looked up, and my green eyes opened wider, mirroring his. He stopped, and I stopped breathing. Achilles looked at me carefully, taking me in from head to toe; my hair down, my chest unbound, and with the thin blanket wrapped around me and begun to smile. "Chrysaor…either my eyes are deceiving me, or you're-"

He stepped forward again and yanked at the blanket. Before I could stop the reflex, I had slapped him across the face. His head snapped to the side, and then snapped back forward again. "By the gods, Chrysaor! Chrysaor, or whatever in Hades your name is-"

"Don't _touch_ me!" I hissed. "My name is Chryse and if you touch me I swear on them, Artemis and Athena will have your…manhood if you touch me without my consent."

Achilles sank onto his bed, resting his head in his hands. "Oh, well at least you name isn't fully a lie," he whispered quietly. "It won't be that hard to learn now that Chrysaor's gone. Whose idea was this, anyway? You, a maiden, running off to war? How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm ten-and-eight-"

"So you'd didn't lie about that either."

"If you would please, the only thing I ever lied about was my gender, and even then I never lied about that because no one ever asked me if I was a boy or a maid!" I protested in a forceful whisper. "It was the two goddesses, Artemis and Athena. They're my…patrons, through a deal made with my mother, who was a water nymph. When she went to Olympia, she made them promise to watch over me. My father was a smith, Hectos of Athens. And I am Chryse, of Athens, and now, the Greek army."

"And what am I supposed to do with you?" Achilles whispered to me. "This is out of my hands. A maiden, living with me for a year and I never suspected it…Athena finds this amusing, doesn't she? And Artemis probably doesn't like the thought of it so much, because you must be a virgin for her to protect you, living in tight quarters with a man."

"It's really not any different then Briseis living with you," I observed.

"No, it's very different! How am I going to explain the new maid and the disappearance of Chrysaor?"

"You'll figure something out."

"Yes, I will. By all laws, I ought to drag you out and expose you for what you are publicly."

"But you won't."  
"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because other then being desecrated by Athena, and Artemis, I have other reasons for keeping you here."

"Such as?"

"I can't exactly send you home now, can I? And furthermore…Briseis isn't mine anymore."

"What do you mean 'isn't yours anymore'?"

"I mean that Agamemnon fairly took her from me, stripping me of my honor. And if we can pass you off as an honor-maid from someone...that would save trouble, and his blood."

I had a bad feeling about this. "Oh, non, no, no! I'm not some cheap honor-maid! No, no! I came here to defend my country's rights, not be pawned off as some sort of…loose woman!"

"And you don't consider living in a man's tent for a year already loose?"

"Not when I was a man!"

"But you're not a man! You're a maid, gods damn it! And one that can help me by passing as my new show of honor!" Achilles leaned forward toward me, putting scant inches between our faces, staring right into my eyes. "And if you don't, you have two choices. I can either let you go here, in camp, with men who haven't so much as seen a woman for almost a year and some, or you will be sent into Troy for Paris, or whoever else wants you."

"So as an honor-maid, do I have to wear a dress?"

A long woman's dress-tunic felt odd after I had spent almost two years in the short tunic and gear of a standard boy. The long hems tripped me, and my legs brushed against the linen, making them tickle. The yards of sheer fabric wrapped around my shoulders and pinned to the straps of the tunic fluttered behind me.

I turned from the burnished mirror and looked at Achilles. "I feel…out of place," I told him, swiping back at my short hair that was pinned back and woven with delicate green ribbons that matched the dress. "I look like a maiden," I continued, turning back to the mirror. A girl with my hair and long eyelashes, pert nose and full mouth stared sullenly back, but all the frowning in the world couldn't disguise the fact that she was radiant.

"That's because you _are_ a maiden," Achilles said, smiling and appearing beside me in the mirror. Brushing back a stray curl of hair, he looked at our reflections in the mirror. "A very beautiful one."

I frowned again, turning and walking away. Sitting on a small couch, she crossed my legs and folded my arms. "How do you propose to introduce me and explain where Chrysaor went?"

Achilles joined me, sitting across from me on a dining couch. "I was thinking about this last night…"

"And?"

He smiled. "You see, Chrysaor was one of a set of twins. He had a sister, Chryse. And when word got back to his father that his son was serving the great Achilles, he was so grateful that he decided to send his glowing daughter as a gift of thanks for his honor. When Chrysaor went to retrieve his sister, she told him that their father was horribly sick, and he left for home on the ship that she was brought on."

I pursed my lips and tapped them lightly with a fingertip. "Do you think they're stupid enough to accept that?"

"Most of them are. The others won't say anything against it."

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"If they discredited my story, they would be saying I was lying."

Standing up, I turned to the tent door and opened the flap. "I don't know, Achilles," I said contemplating the men that passed outside, sparring with each other, cleaning weapons and armor, or just sleeping or talking with their friends and allies.

"They may not be the smartest as a bunch, but how do you expect to convince Odysseus and Agamemnon? I think you're trying too hard. Your need for some foolish honor over a maid is clouding your clear view. You should be worrying about battle, and how to get into Troy, not how to pass me off as a twin and recover your 'honor'."

Achilles grasped my elbow and turned me around to face him. "You overstep yourself, Chrysa- Chryse. Even as Chrysaor you have no right to voice your thoughts like that. My honor is what allows me to hold my place alongside the kings and generals. And you'd be well off to remember that as long as you're here, living in my housing, wearing clothing my money provided, eating my food, I own you, male or female, and at any moment I can cast you out to the camp in all your uncovered maiden-hood."

I stared back into his blue eyes, keeping my head up and level to his, although many inches separated our height. "That's an empty bluff," I told him, wrenching my arm out of his hand and walking away. Turning over my shoulder I looked back at him. "You need me too much, and I know it. I'll help you now, Achilles, but I refuse to some parts of this supposed plan."

"I'm prepared to barter, brazen girl. What exactly do you refuse to?"

Raising a fine eyebrow, I walked over to him and poked a finger at his chest. "Firstly, I will play along and act the part of your little honor-maid, but only, and _only_ to the people outside of this tent. I will not share your bed, I will not pick up after you, and weave for you. And I _refuse_ to ever not speak my mind, whether I am a maid, a man, or a sheep. If you trusted Chrysaor's decisions, you should have no problems with Chryse's."

Achilles didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched and I knew he was trying not to smile. He nodded, turning to the tent flap and opening it. "Where are you going?" I asked, not able to help myself. He looked back. "Well, if you're not going to clean up after me, to find another standard boy."

My eyes widened and I was latched onto his arm before I could help myself. "No! I mean, no, don't do that. I'll still do those duties myself. I don't mind. I like them."

He stopped, looking down at me. "Did you, or did you not just say you refused to clean up after me?"

I sighed, and took a breath. "No. What I meant was that I refuse to clean up your tent and camp after you. I won't make and wash your clothing, I won't cook your meals. You have other people for that. However, I like working with the horses and cleaning your weapons. And armor, even. Those jobs are interesting, and worth time and energy. Just because you know I'm a woman, I refuse to be treated like one. So, I'd like to keep my job. That is, if you'd allow me," I added, knowing that after my outbursts a little humility would go a far way.

He looked stunned for a moment, and then nodded. "Fine. Whatever keeps you happy, quiet, and out of the way of other people. But now, I _do_ have to go and let them know that Chrysaor is…away."

"Do I have your word?"

"You have my word, as the son of Thetis and as a warrior of the Greek army."

I let him go, thanking him and the gods for hearing my bargain and plea.

As Achilles walked out, I stood in the doorway of the tent, waving and watching him go. He stopped suddenly a few yards down the way, shaking his head and turning. I smiled. He had just realized that he had been had by a girl, taken in by my big eyes and pleading grip on him. I laughed as he pointed a finger at me. I'd be in trouble later, but for now, it was worth it.

Achilles turned sharply as I drew the tent flap aside. "Don't!" he called out sharply, but I brushed his words aside and stood amused as he fumbled for clothing. "Oh, stop it. I've seen you naked before. It's not like this is anything new," I stated, as he glared at me.

"Yes, but you weren't Chryse the maid then. You were Chrysaor," he said, and then stopped, realizing how stupid it had sounded. I rolled my eyes to the heavens and dipped the cloth into the basin of warm water that was waiting and began to wash the blood and dirt and sweat off of his back and broad shoulders.

I sat on a rock on the thin strip of beach between land and the vast ocean, blankly staring at the flicking streamers of light that ran across the water's surface in the failing daylight. Wrapped in a thick woolen blanket that I draped over myself like a robe, and picking at the berries and strips of goat meat in the bowl beside me, I contemplated the situation I was in.

Needing some time to myself, I had strayed from Achilles' camps and had come down to the sea, going farther away then was probably safe or necessary, but I had walked until it felt a right place to stop. I turned my head around and looked at the camp to my back. It would have to be Agamemnon's, of course. Fate was fickle like that.

I knew I probably shouldn't stay long, but I couldn't bring myself to go back just yet. I didn't want to have to face Achilles or the soldiers, and this was the best way of avoidance I knew.

A figure of a soldier was walking down the beach. He stopped when he saw my figure perched on the boulder. Turning, he walked away quickly, leaving me in my peace. A nice gesture, or so I thought until my eyes came to rest on where he stopped to talk to someone. Even at this distance, it was impossible to not know Achilles.

His black robe swirled around him as he walked toward me, the ocean's waves coming to rest at his feet as he made footprints in the wet and soft sand. I turned away, looking at the sea, not acknowledging him until it was impossible with him in front of me.

"So do you always send someone to follow me?" I asked lightly, but with a bite in my words.

He looked at me, noticing my set jaw. "No, not regularly, but if you leave camp, I don't want you wandering alone," he said gently, resting his arms on the rock and leaning on it, looking out to the sea too. "Especially out this way."

"You don't think I could fend for myself if anything happened?"

"I know you could, but I prefer not to tempt Fate," he said, casting a look back at his rival's camp. "He's already taken Breseis from me; let's not try to add you to the list of things of mine he's captured for himself."

"Oh, so now I'm yours?"

Achilles looked up at me, and I was trapped between his eyes and literally, a hard spot. "Yes."

I shivered at the word, and turned, breaking the spell of his eyes. He continued, relaxing his posture and hold over me. "I don't mind if you want to roam, just be careful where you do. I know the sort of freedom you had before, and I don't want to rein that in. You don't like to be held close to people. I want you to be as free as you want to be, within reason, of course," he added. I knew that he didn't like me being this close to Agamemnon's reach. Rightly so. That I could understand.

He held a hand up to me. "Come. Let's go back to our camp." I acquiesced, placing my pale and slender hand in his larger and callused one. Steadying me as I jumped down, he kept my hand for a few moments before I turned to him, a question in my eyes. He dropped it then, and we started back to our camps.

This was part of the reason I hadn't wanted him to come down to me. The awkward silences were starting to settle between us, like the first slight winter's cold.

On the walls of Troy, inside the enemy city, Achilles and I stood, waiting for the arrival of those who had called us forward to enter the city in peace. I fidgeted with the gold bracelets that wrapped my arm over my plain leather band, and Achilles' hand rested on the sword he had been allowed to keep with him as a gesture of goodwill. Many things these Trojans might be, but foolish they were not. They had known there was no chance of getting me in here without an armed guard. Too bad they hadn't expected Achilles himself. I had had to cover my smile as the guards stared in shock and surprise as we entered through the gates, the maiden and Achilles himself at her side.

We hadn't had to wait long, but every minute that I spent waiting for this famed woman and the younger prince of Troy in this dress, with these bracelets, without the comforts of camp and my people grated on my nerves. Achilles caught my fidgeting, and raised a hand to stop me. I sighed, composing myself as best I knew how. Straightening up to my (not-so-impressive,) height, keeping my head up and shoulders back, I tried to act the part of a lady. I liked to think I didn't fail so horribly, but my breeding probably showed anyway, as well as the life I had led for the past five years.

Finally, Helen and Paris appeared. Instantly, I felt myself sinking into despair as the woman approached me. Here was a real lady, from the way she walked carefully, to the very way she breathed. Her statuesque height and slender form only set my boyish figure and muscles from labor off the instant she stepped in front of me.

Her blue dress set off her sky eyes, so I knew at least I hadn't been too wrong with the green tunic-dress for myself and my own pale green eyes. But after that I felt utterly unprepared. I sighed in remorse, and instantly was poked mentally. "Hello, Artemis."

"Wake up and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Chryse. You're not as bad off as you think."

"That's easier to say when you're a god against her then when you're a mortal woman standing in front of her."

"CHRYSE! YOU AREN'T JUST A MORTAL!"

I winced, begging back mentally. "Down a little, please."

"Fine. But remember, you are the daughter of Synae of the sea, the child of Hectos, whose crafts and strength a renowned far and wide, a warrior of the Greek army, maid of Achilles, and dear to the goddesses Athena and Artemis. …That sounds quite nice, put like that, doesn't it? Or should it be 'Artemis and Athena'?"

Disgusted, I tuned her out, but kept hold of what she had said. I might not be royalty, but I was just as important. I could bear myself worthy of those who had shaped me into who I was now.

Helen and I stood, mirroring each other. Both of us stood relaxed, yet poised for attack at any moment. Flanking us on our right were, conversely, Paris and Achilles. They glared at each other, and at the same instant, with the same careful movement, Helen and I both lay our hands on their forearm. Seeing what had happened, she quickly removed her hand from Paris, but I let mine linger as Achilles and I exchanged a look. The people surrounding us began to mutter quietly to each other.

Achilles frowned, shifting closer to me. We were both excruciatingly aware how defenseless we were in the enemy's hands. All that stood between our capture at the hands of the Trojan's was the word of an adulterous woman. Needless to say, I wasn't sure how much I trusted Helen of Sparta, and now, Troy.

I have to admit, Helen was lovely. It was easy to see why men, being those reckless creatures we know so well, would have started a war over her. But I wondered how much of all this she really comprehended; did she know how many innocent men she had killed, just because they were on an opposite side? Did she know how many wives' husbands, children's fathers, maid's lovers she had killed? Did she feel any regret for running to the Trojan ships with the prince, leaving her homeland, never to return? Did tears ever drop off of her pale cheek in the night, as she thought of her countries fighting each other? As I looked into her bright blue eyes, I had a feeling that she did. And that she understood. We might be enemies, both in war and as women of our men, but my heart went out for the woman, not so much older then myself.

Call it sympathy, empathy, anything you want, but I understood her. Taking the first tentative step toward peace, I set my shoulders and reached forward, resting a hand on hers. "Helen. I've heard many things about you. We finally meet."

She raised her eyes to look into mine. "Chryse. I'm sure they were both good and bad. I've heard more yet of you. Welcome."

Turning to Achilles, with a grace I never could have managed, she nodded serenely at him. "And Achilles. It's been some time since I've last seen you in the halls of Sparta. I trust you're as well as always."

The air of diplomacy that surrounded her was light, but hung over her slim shoulders with the ease that show she had worn it long. I now realized what set her apart from most women. It wasn't so much her beauty, although that too was great. It wasn't her titles, her birthright, or her riches. Helen possessed an easy air of maturity that leveled the ground between her and men and made her their equal. I fairly drooled in envy. It's one thing to gain respect through muscle and words, and another to gain it merely because of how you conduct yourself.

There was still and edge of rivalry and unease around our little group. Paris squirmed under Achilles' gaze, and I blushed under Paris' roving eye. Truly a connoisseur of women, I wasn't sure that I trusted this prince as much as I trusted his kingly brother.

My fears were confirmed when Paris lifted his head to the sky and shouted. "Aphrodite, give me back the golden apple! I've been cheated!" A slow murmur rose through the crowd as we waited, watching for any sign of the goddess. We didn't have to wait long. Out of the clouds a figure ascended, and the goddess of love and beauty came to stand between the four of us.

"What is the trouble, Paris?" she cooed, tilting her head to the side and blinking coquetteishly. "Why must you yell so for me?"

Indignantly, he turned and pointed at me. "Tell me if she is not more lovely then Helen," he shouted, and the crowd began to raise their voices behind the goddess. I backed up, and Achilles wrapped a protective arm about my shoulders, scowling at the Trojans and their prince.

Aphrodite sighed and gestured, and the crowd died down. "My dear, this matter is out of my realm," she explained. "Two of my sisters must take this case over from me." She muttered something under her breath, and Athena and Artemis appeared beside her. Neither had the flair for the drama their sister did, and it took less energy to apperate then ascend from Olympus.

Artemis giggled, and Athena glared, whispering under her breath something about "stupid, petty mortals." I grinned, and she shot me a look that caused me to smooth it out into a proper closed face. For all of her seriousness, I liked the grim goddess. Achilles reminded me somewhat of her. It makes sense, as she was his patron goddess as well.

Clearing her throat, Athena got the attention of the raucous group of people gathered. Paris frowned at her, and she glared back. Artemis ogled at the man from behind her sister. Helen's frown deepened. "Now, I want to clear something out right now," Athena started, her low voice hard. "I don't particularly like you, prince, or these people, so I'm going to make this as clear and quick as I can. As one of the contenders for the golden apple, I can fairly tell you that you were _not_ cheated. The woman by your side was the fairest at the time. For any injury on your part, we are not to blame. Chryse was so young at the time of the judging that she wasn't a contender for Helen." (I didn't know whether to be relieved or affronted.) "All I can say is that Time had a trick on us, and that you'll have to be content with what you have." Athena's gray eyes cut to me. "I have other plans for Chryse."

I swallowed hard at that one. Gods and planning never go very well together. Look where I was now. In the middle of a war.

Artemis shrugged her shoulders. "Chryse can't be touched, Paris. It just works that way. Take Helen and don't make this war for nothing." I could sense the level of comfort between Helen and I had just dropped several levels with these comments. I felt it a shame. Under different circumstances, I would have probably liked the woman.

A light pulsed around us, and we all shut our eyes. Achilles shielded his eyes with his arm, keeping his eyes open so he could see if anyone tried anything. Raising my hands down from my face, we all gaped at the host of gods that had filtered into the assembled crowd.

Ares himself presided, stepping forward. "My sisters are right, Paris. You must follow their ruling. As for the girl," (I received a casual glance from him. My hair prickled on my scalp, and I felt him look right through me.) "She might be the fairest now, but you can't take back what was in the past."

Men and gods nodded assent to both comments. I raised a hand to my brow, hoping to cover my embarrassment. I didn't like the way I was being looked over like some sort of ox up for inspection. I felt naked without a sword or dagger by my side. Even having Achilles there didn't help my feeling of unease. I felt truly alone in front of all these strangers.

Achilles snaked an arm around my waist, nudging me softly. "I think it's almost time to get out of here," he told me softly. "I don't like the looks of the crowd."

Turning to him, I replied: "I don't either."

"You wouldn't."


	5. Passing Years and Aftermath

Someone rapped a fist against the side of my pounding skull. I moaned and looked up, into the eyes of Artemis that, usually full of insanity, were now full of disdain. "Oh, damn," I muttered, and rolled over, sitting up. She folded her arms across her chest. "So you know what this means," she stated.

"Yes. I do."

"Well, I hope you're happy."

Was it worth telling a goddess it had been well worth it? No, I didn't think so. "Um, I…was," I drew the words out carefully. Artemis snorted and threw her hands up into the air in defeat.

"By all accounts, you lost me as your patron when you broke your chastity."

"Well, I never really had a choice about that before, did I?" I shot back. "It's not exactly like I was a priestess. For the gods' sakes, it was the first time that it was ever an option!" Achilles sat up beside me, rubbing his face with a hand, ruining my point.

"Alright, maybe the second time too," I admitted. Artemis still glared at me. It was the first time I had seen her looking reasonably sane. "Fine! Third!"

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Surely, you've displayed wanton behavior-" I sputtered at her, but she held up a hand, and my voice mysteriously stopped in my throat. I grumbled in indignation. "-But you're also not completely to blame." She glared at Achilles, who glared back, every inch as offended as the goddess. "Be glad I'm not Athena who you've disgraced, because unlike my warring sister, I don't believe in unfair killing. The only men and women I've killed deserved it. Also, I think I know a way out of this."

"What?"

"You see, you're both under patronage of Athena, and I don't think my sister was entirely forthright when she explained this plan of sending you to war with me."

"You have my attention…"

"I think, although very wrong and against my orders, Athena somehow paired you two together because you're both her favorites. So if this…abhor- uh, sanction, was set into action by a god, well, I can't do anything about it. Which means that you probably couldn't have helped it anyway."

Achilles frowned, the beginnings of anger starting to show across his face. "What? What's that supposed to mean? Are you implying, Artemis, that without the help of a goddess I couldn't have-" I casually reached across and covered his mouth with a hand before he could say anything that would further complicate the situation.

"I'm sure that's not what she means," I comforted him, and turned back to Artemis, who was looking skeptical. "So if this is the case, that means that you can continue to be my patron, even though I'm no longer a virgin?"

She nodded. "That's exactly what I mean."

"I don't see the problem with that, then."

"Good. Neither did I. This works so well. I didn't want to lose you. Gods know that you're one of the only interesting ones I have left," she confided, the regular insanity beginning to creep back into her blue eyes and soft voice. "As for you," she said, looking hard at Achilles. "If you harm one hair on her head, or one heartstring, I can do things to you that will make Medusa and the Gorgons look like children. Understand?"

Achilles nodded, and Artemis smiled, sparkling. "Good. Well then, take care." She disappeared.

We couldn't keep our hands off each other. I clung to his waist, a slender arm around his muscled stomach. If I turned, smiling coyly and flirting, teasing him as if to walk way, he would cling to my hems, like a child.

"Signey, not so close to the wall!" I yelled at the little girl. She turned, bright fair hair gleaming in the sun. "I'll be careful, mother," she promised, and I shook my head, walking over and picking her up. "It's a long fall," I told her, staring into her solemn blue eyes, so much like her father's.

"Yes, it is, and if you would, please put the child down," a voice behind me instructed.

I started, stiffening as I gently bent down and put my daughter on the ground. Turning, I slipped my hand to my side, feeling for my knife.

"And drop your knife as well."

I left go of it, and it clattered onto the ground.

"And the one hidden in your sandal."

That one dropped too. I turned to face Agamemnon. "What do you think you're doing, Agamemnon?" I asked. A smile creased his face. "I think I'm getting rid of the great Achilles' family."

Not taking my eyes off him, I spoke to Signey. "Signey, darling, come here, please," I asked, and I felt her press her cheek to my leg, wrapping her little arms around it. "Now, I want you to be quiet. I have to talk to this man for a moment, understand?" She nodded, her gold hair bouncing.

Agamemnon's eyes were focused on her, a slight sneer on his lips. "Look at her, so small and helpless." He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. "Where's your father, Signey? Why isn't your father here to protect you?"

"Because her mother is," I told him coldly. He reached a hand out, beckoning to my daughter. "Come here, Signey. Come to Uncle Agamemnon."

A breeze caught my blue dress, swirling it around, and I reached down and tugged at Signey's hand. "Don't touch him; he's not your uncle," I warned. "Stay here, with me." As I talked to her, I watched her slowly slip a hand down, to the ground, and it closed around something. Nodding at me, she raised it behind her back to me, and I took the dagger from her. "Good girl," I coaxed, and Agamemnon caught the exchange a second to late.

"No!" he cried, lunging forward. I shoved Signey behind me and stepped in front of her, between the warrior and the child. "Agamemnon, you crossed the line. You don't threaten my family," I warned him, tightening the grasp on my dagger.

"Wretch," he spat at me. "I should have seen you killed long ago. Now, I'm too late, and I'll have to kill you, Achilles, and your spawn! You stupid woman, didn't you learn anything? Odysseus might have saved you then, but now it's only you and I, Chryse. All alone, out here, on the walls of Troy. It's a long way to fall…"

I gritted my teeth. "The only way to my daughter is through me, Agamemnon. And I remember the last time we met like this, you were the one who was carried away. Care to try again? You're that foolish, tsch," I clicked my tongue at him. "Come on, if you want."

The redhead grinned, and closed in on me. "Signey, run," I commanded, and I heard her little feet hitting the ground behind me as she obeyed. Agamemnon saw her running, and leaped forward. I met his dagger with mine, leaning into him to upset his balance. He outweighed me, but I was quicker and more agile. Raising my foot, I kicked him in the stomach, and he dropped back, gasping. Tucking my dress's hem into my belt, I turned and ran after Signey, who was furiously pumping her stout legs as fast as she could. "Athena!" I called, "Artemis!" I received no answer.

My dress was my undoing. It unfurled from my belt, and fanned out behind me. Agamemnon caught it, yanking me back. Fighting back, I clawed at him, biting, kicking, doing anything I could, but he pulled his blade out and pressed it to my neck. Leaning over the wall, I was caught between a blade and a drop.

From the ground, a moving head caught my eye. Gold flashed on armor, and Achilles stopped below us. "Go on, shout," Agamemnon urged. "Shout for your husband." I refused, keeping my mouth shut. I wouldn't cry for help. By doing so, I would draw him into the trap.

"Call him!" The blade pressed tighter against my neck. But it didn't matter that I hadn't. Achilles had seen and heard, and was running to us on his own. "I'll wait for him," Agamemnon told me. "That way, he'll watch as I kill you, kill your child, and then kill him."

His mistake was that he decided to wait. He relaxed in anticipation, and I knocked my head to his, making him back up, clutching at his skull. I whirled, but before I could go anywhere, he caught my skirts again. I saw my small daughter before me by a few yards. "Signey, go! Run!" I yelled at her. "Mother!" she cried.

"Chryse!"

We all turned. Agamemnon now stood between Achilles, and Signey and I. We were all silent for a moment, Signey past sobbing, Achilles' eyes wide with fear, and I stuck between my family, not able to help either.

Agamemnon looked at Achilles and smiled. "Hello, favorite of the gods. What brings you here? Bad luck? Have they deserted you already?"

Achilles gritted his teeth, jutting out his jaw in rage. "Agamemnon, unhand my wife, and let her and my daughter go. Your quarrel is with me alone, not with them. They have no part in this."

"I don't think that that's wise. How about a trade? I will trade your life for your wife's and daughter's. Otherwise," He drew the dagger-blade closer to my throat and put pressure on it. "Otherwise…they die."

"Done," Achilles said, without thought, ignoring my frantic eyes. "Let her go."

"Oh, wise choice, very wise. It might be your first," the king said, letting me go, stepping back and bowing to my glorious husband where he stood in all the fear and righteous wrath. Signey stepped forward toward me, and I gestured to her, still feeling the unease of a trap. "No, Signey, stay back. Behind me," I warned carefully, but it was too late. My little daughter, serious blue eyes watering with tears, stepped forward, holding her arms out to me.

Agamemnon lunged forward and scooped her up, and she screamed. "_Mother! Father! _" The red-headed king of the Achaeans held my daughter over the walls in two arms.

"_No! _" Achilles and I cried together, leaping toward he who held our sobbing child.

"Stop!" Agamemnon ordered, moving father away. "Take one more step forward, and I will drop her, I swear on Zeus's head."

"You never swore on anything that you didn't believe in," Achilles snarled. "Swear on your own head!"

"Careful," Agamemnon warned, his tone sweet and bitter. "Watch your famous temper, Achilles. Every and each word you say could bring your daughter closer to her death."

"Achilles," I whispered. "Do what he says. Watch your words. Signey, darling, hush your crying. Everything is going to be fine, I promise," I coaxed both gently, my voice and words not coinciding with my thoughts of spilling this man's blood, the one who dared to harm my family. "Agamemnon, stop this foolishness before anyone gets harmed. Put Signey down, and I promise, on Athena and Artemis, who are my patron gods, we will work something agreeable out that we will all be happy with."

"That is impossible; I'm sorry, dear girl. The only agreeable thing I can think of would be the death of all of your family. So, I think I'll start with this one. A pity, she would have grown up to be as beautiful as her mother, though maybe as treacherous. So maybe it's good she'll die before she can do any of the damage that's in her blood." He leaned over the walls edge, and something ripped from both Achilles' and my mouths at the same instant, in a cry of the most desperate measures_. "Athena, defend your young lives! _"

At the same instant that Agamemnon let go of our fair-haired child, a fierce wind blew in toward the walls, and she was snatched from his hold into strong and gentle arms. Athena descended onto the ramparts, holding my daughter in her arms and turning to Agamemnon with eyes that burned like a furnace.

"Agamemnon, son of Atreus, do you dare endanger the lives of those that are mine?" she thundered, and he cowered below her, shielding his face from her mighty wrath and power. She let Signey go, and she ran to her father and I, clinging to us and crying quietly as we smoothed her hair and kissed her brow.

"You're alright now, darling; it's all over; hush, don't cry," I whispered, and Achilles gathered us both into his arms, guarding us fiercely.

"I will have your life for this, Agamemnon. I warned you once before, and I'll warn you a time again: Your life belongs to me," Achilles grated, holding onto his daughter. "All the armies in the world might try to defend you, but I will be the one to watch your blood run out of your body."

I nodded to Athena. "Thank you, goddess, for coming when we needed you most."

She smiled at me gently. "I always protect my own, Chryse, always. When ever you need me most, I'll be there." Turning on Agamemnon sharply, she continued at him. "I'll see you down to your council, King of the Achaeans, where you will be judged by them as to what the worth of your life is after you try to harm the lives of others they hold dear." She disappeared, and he with her.

"Come," Achilles said. "I am not done with him. We'll return to our camp, and then I'm going to the council. Are you alright? You're not harmed?" he asked fearfully, checking my face and arms. "He didn't touch you?"

"No. I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up," I admitted. "I'll take Signey back with me; you go straight to the council."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight until our men are around you. I'll go with you back."

I will never forget that day. I sat just inside the great tent's door, with the flap open so I could keep an eye on Signey where she sat outside playing in the dirt and mend one of the horse's bridles at the same time. Not that I really needed to keep an eye on the girl; every man in the camp of the Achaeans adored her and would gladly play nursemaid to her.

Watching my daughter absent-mindedly, just staring at her as she drew with chubby child-fingers in the dry dust, a flash of armor and flying dark hair caught my eye. Turning my head, I saw Athena sweep by the tents, heading in the direction of the battlefields. Her gray eyes open wide, and her hands grasped at the sword at her side, crafted for her by Hephaestus the god-smith. A chill ran through my heart, stopping it for a beat, and I stood up. The bridle dropped from my lap and hit the ground with a dull _thunk_, creating a small cloud of dust to rise where it had fallen unnoticed.

A moment later, as Athena vanished from view, Artemis with the wild eyes appeared beside me. Her own dark hair was wind-blown and in disarray, but she didn't seem to notice. Raising a hand, she pointed out in the direction Athena had gone. "Go," she commanded, and the fright in her voice stirred me out of my trance.

I flew from the tent, past Signey, who looked up in shock as her mother blew past her at a dead run. The feet I had inherited from my silver-footed mother didn't fail me now, as they never had. The swiftness of the nymph-sprinters sang through my blood and veins, and I raced after the war-goddess, catching sight of her at the edge of the gathered warriors at the battlefield. She pressed her way though them, and I followed.

Two men were fighting in the middle of the battlefield, circled by their fighters watching them. I recognized Memnon from the pale goddess that stood behind him, his mother, the goddess Dawn. The Lord of Ethiopia towered over his opponent, even though the other armor-clad man was not either short nor slender. That warrior didn't need to be recognized, for I knew him as well as I knew myself or my daughter.

Achilles and Memnon squared off in battle, leaping at each other, cutting, slashing, hacking, hoping to gain any hold over the other. I'd seen Achilles fight numerous times, even been beside him in battle years ago. The sight of him in combat no longer terrified me, but instead I waited with grim anticipation.

Finally, I saw two more join the fight. Behind Memnon stood the great black figure of Fate, and behind Achilles was Athena herself. I relaxed, knowing the outcome. I didn't have to wait long. Achilles thrust his blade through Memnon, and the son of Dawn fell mightily. Fate picked him up, and disappeared off the fields.

The warriors of Troy broke and fled for the gates of the city as my husband stripped the armor of Memnon off the fallen fighter. Straightening up, he gave chase to the Trojans, and his own feet, like mine, a gift from his own nymph mother, were faster still then the Trojans. As the gates opened, he stood between them, slaying those who ran past, keeping them open as the Greeks ran to join him.

Cries rang from the walls of Troy. "Troy is taken! Troy is taken! Achilles enters!" I ran in the throng of Greek soldiers, feeling as if in a dream. Athena turned as she ran, scanning the crowd, and her finger came to rest on me. The men on either sides of me turned and looked. "Chryse! Chryse comes again to join us!" Ignoring their shouts, I ran to the gates of the great city.

Suddenly, the crowd stopped, and I was trapped behind a wall of men's bodies. Achilles turned, hearing what the Greeks were shouting, and he raised a hand out toward me, palm out, telling me to come no further. From behind me, Athena pushed on me, screaming. "Forward, Chryse! Don't halt here!" She raised a finger towards the walls of Troy, and above on the ramparts a figure drew a bow.

"No!" I screamed, thrusting the men around me out of my way with all my might. The arrow flew, and Achilles turned to look at me again to see what had caused my outburst. As he turned, the arrow plunged into his heel. His heel, the one place Thetis of the sea had failed to dip her son into the dread river Styx. He dipped, recovered, made one more thrust at a Trojan, and then crumbled.

I pushed my way out of the crowd as he fell, running to his side and falling to my knees by his body, staring at the horrible arrow that seemed to sprout out of Achilles' heel. He looked at me, and I looked at him with wide eyes, so shocked I was past the point of weeping. "Chryse…take Signey back with you…to Athens and stay there," he told me, eyes fluttering. "I'm sorry…always, I'll-" His eyes closed and didn't open again.

I leaned down and kissed his brow as the wind began to howl around us and the wails drifted from the ocean. Turning, the soldiers of Greece and Troy turned to look at the sea as the sea nymphs rose and sang their dirges.

Turning, I looked up at the battlements of Troy. "Damn Helen's lover!" I cried out in rage. "May the gods damn Paris and his cursed wife, the ones who brought this war upon us!" From where he stood, Paris dropped back, his face pale and hands clenched around his bow that had felled the great Achilles.

Athena scooped my fallen husband up in her great arms, and I followed her back to the camps. Men came to the sides of the path as we passed, bowing their heads. Artemis stood in front of our tents, her arms around Signey's small shoulders. Thetis stood at her side, and my own mother flanked Thetis. The three goddesses wailed as Athena and I approached with the body, but Signey merely stood strong, looking over her father's body with his calm blue eyes, no tears, no cries, only a little regret on her face.


	6. Home Again

2

Ten years is a long time. But even the changes a decade had wrought couldn't keep me from recognizing my father when he came to the door. His once-black hair that had rippled down his back was now gray, and he walked a little more slowly and stooped a bit, but his smith's muscles and pride kept him a strong and upright figure. He stood in the doorway, confusion weighing down his brow. "Lady, you must have the wrong house," he said gently, looking at Signey and smiling as she shyly hid her head on my shoulder. My daughter peeked out, looking at the man she didn't know was her grandfather.

My father smiled at the child and waggled his fingers, bringing a smile to her face. "There's no mistake, Hectos, finest smith of Athens. Am I that changed that you don't recognize your own daughter?"

His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at me as I smiled. "Chryse?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought you had died, years ago."

"I was worrying the same about you, old man."

Hectos drew himself up to his full height. As his shadow fell over me, I realized with shock that my father was almost as tall as Achilles had been. A small sigh escaped my lips. Even in death, Achilles had been right again to send me back here, and not to his lands.

"We don't die off that easily, daughter, as you can tell. You doubted your father?"

"You doubted your daughter?"

He smiled again and relaxed. "Well, you always were an impetuous thing. It's really no wonder you're back here. And who's this little princess?" he asked, turning and looking at Signey where she sat on my hip, arms around my neck. I smiled, looking down at her. "This is Signey. Signey, darling, this is your grandfather. Can you say hello to him?"

She cast me a dubious look, and then turned and looked out at the smith. Giving him a dazzling smile, she unwrapped her arms and reached out for him. "Hello, Grandfather!"

In shock, Hectos took her from me, jiggling her on his hip as she squealed. Peering behind me at the servants and soldiers, he asked in a loud voice so they could hear. "And where is your husband?"

Eyes dropped everywhere, and the smile froze on my face. Signey cast her gaze down to the ground, and my father picked up on the somber mood that had descended.

"He wasn't so lucky to leave Troy alive," I said, and the men gathered behind us busied themselves again, giving us a moment of private time. "Father, you've heard of the great warrior Achilles, yes?"

My father nodded. "Who hasn't? Did you fight with him in battle?"

I gave him a crooked grin. "Yes. I did. He was my master. And…he was my husband. You're holding his daughter in your arms."

He gave a start, almost dropping Signey was he looked down. Wailing, she clutched to his arm, and he hoisted her back up. Stopping her shrieks, they turned into bubbles of laughter as she pulled on my father's beard. I smiled at the picture they made, crossing my arms. I was finally home again. Casting my eyes up to the bright skies, I gave my head a small shake. Well, maybe I wasn't completely home.

As my father waved us into his house, making sure the servants and soldiers could move my things in without much trouble; he ran around, my blonde girl on his hip, gesturing to the servants, talking with the soldiers of the war, of their previous master, of his exploits in battle.

The special urn was carried in between two steady-handed soldiers, and they reverently placed it on the special niche in the wall near the back door, between the door and a window that looked over Athens' hills. Smiling to myself, I shook my head in silent laughter. Achilles was surely raising hell in Olympia, with the disdain only he held for being placed somewhere quietly, reverently, were you would only see him if you wanted to reflect in silence. It didn't suit him, but the contrast between the area and the man he had been was a nice, contradictory touch to a death that had come too soon for all.

I sat on the front stoop, chin in my hands, listening to the hubbub behind me; the laughter of my father and daughter, the low voices of Achilles' men, and the quiet voices of the servants as they moved things around to make room for their bundles. A slow smile started across my face, the feeling of peace quiet and serene after the years of clanging armor and the sea.

I might never see my mother again, and the goddesses might be done with me, but I had a good feeling about my daughter's future and how her life's path would be made for her. Just the day before, I had come upon her playing in the dust with a small toy. Taking it from her, I asked her where she had gotten it. With a smile, she reached for the carved wooden hare, jumping up and down for it. 'From the crazy lady with the arrows,' she had told me, and I felt someone run a hand over my shoulder, even though no one was there. Yes, my daughter wouldn't be alone.

Looking back up to the sky, I shielded my sun-browned face with a slender hand. "We did well, love. You'll have to wait, I'm afraid, for a while. I know how impatient you get. But in the meantime, you have Athena and Artemis to chase after you like I did, making sure you're not getting in trouble. But there's a whole world out there for me yet. You didn't expect me to just stay put, did you? No, I didn't think so," I agreed as a breeze started, blowing my hair against my face from behind me.

Standing, I stretched as the sun began to sink behind the distant hills. My father called from inside the courtyard, and I smelt the tangy odor of spiced beef cooking over a fire. Turning my back on the brilliant blood reds of the sunset, I started in to join my family. Even with lifetimes, miles and worlds between us, I knew that all of us would be attending this dinner, be we mortal or god, living or dead. Love was much too important for the conventions of life.


End file.
